I don't know who I am, but I know who you are
by myhomeistheshire
Summary: Darcy and Bucky have a weird relationship. This is their story.


That night Bucky's at one of his weekly pity-party hangouts, but tonight the music is just a little too loud and the crowd a little too stuffy, so he downs his drink and pays and then heads out the door.

"Hey - hey! Wait up!" He doesn't think that the shouting could be for him, but then a woman jogs up behind him, out of breath and holding out a bundle of black cloth. "You forgot your jacket." She says promptly, shoving it into his grasp.

"I, uh - thanks." His hands reflexively open to grab the jacket, and without even thinking about it he takes it in a way that hides his metal arm.

"Yeah, no problem." She's still doubled over, hands on her knees and gasping for breath.

"Are you okay?" He asks, a little concerned because she looks more than out of breath and he's not used to dealing with people.

"Yeah, I'm good." She waves him off, standing up. "Just out of shape. Have a good -"

And then he's ducking down and pulling her with him because there are gunshots cracking through the air.

"What the _hell?"_ The woman exclaims, but Bucky doesn't have time to explain that he was definitely the _worst_ person to help out and this is what happens to people who try - instead he's pulling her into an alley and behind a dumpster to wait until the gunshots stop.

It's less than a minute but it feels like an eternity, and he almost forgets about her until she speaks up again.

"So is this, like, a regular thing for you?" Her voice sounds _irritated,_ of all things, and his mouth involuntarily quirks up at the corners.

"It's not completely unheard of." He replies, turning to look at her - and he hears a crack and feels a brief flash of pain. It takes him a second to realize that she slapped him, right across the face.

"What - the - _hell?"_ She's standing, now, and he follows suit. "I go out to hand some guy his jacket like a_ decent fucking human being,_ and the next second I'm being _shot_ at, and then you seem to think it's all so _fucking_ hilarious."

"Sorry." He apologizes, but it doesn't sound too sincere since he can't seem to wipe the bemused smirk off his face. "It's just - you don't react like most people."

"Welcome to my life." She huffs, turning to leave. Bucky isn't sure why, but some involuntary urge causes him to reach out and grab her wrist.

"I didn't get your name." He says, and she yanks her hand from his grasp with a petulant glare.

"And I didn't get yours." She replies, before storming off, muttering under her breath.

Bucky turns to lean back against the alley wall.

He's so, so screwed.

* * *

><p>The next day is the next big step in what his Coulson-assigned psychiatrist calls his "new life plan" - meeting Steve at Stark Tower to be properly introduced to the team. He rolls out of bed with a killer headache because he stayed out too late waiting for her to show up at the bar again and maybe downed a few too many shots of whiskey in the process. He takes a quick shower, throws on the first clothes he finds that aren't ripped or covered in blood, and heads out the door.<p>

The tower is like a giant beacon of everything that could possibly be called _overkill._ He stands outside, gathering the courage to head inside. In fact, maybe he'll just cancel. He can always plan this for another day, after all -

"Bucky!" He turns and sees Steve walking toward him. _Shit._ Oh, well. There goes his great plan. "Ready to meet everyone?"

"Not even close," He admits, and Steve grins.

"Come on. They're good people." He reassures his friend, and they walk through the doors and enter the giant glass elevator.

They go through the awkward introductions in the common room, with Bucky shaking hands and avoiding eye contact while staying as far away from everyone as physically possible.

"Listen, there's a few other people I want you to meet -" Steve starts, just as the elevator behind them dings open. "Meet Jane Foster, and Darcy Lewis. They work here, in the research lab."

Bucky turns to look and his jaw is dropping because there are two women standing in the entryway and one of them is _her._

It takes her a second, because she's fiddling with her bag, but she looks up at him and for a second she's stunned speechless.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" She asks, in lieu of saying hello. Everyone stares at them, unsure of the scene that's unraveling.

"Are you following me?" He asks, and she glares at him.

"Funny, that was my line. I _work_ here, thank you very much. Well, intern. Whatever."

"Well I was just coming to meet everyone - are you bleeding?" Because there was definitely something seeping through the knee of her jeans that looked suspiciously like blood.

"Oh, shit. _Shit._ I liked these jeans." She replies, glancing down at it.

"Did one of those bullets _hit_ you, last night?" He's incredulous. He hadn't even noticed her limping, hadn't even thought to check -

"Wait, you were there?" The other woman, Jane, is asking.

"You two know each other?" Steve says, and Bucky doesn't know who to respond to first.

"We - we met last night, outside a bar. Someone started shooting at me, I didn't see who -"

"And you didn't tell me?" Steve is getting his angry-mother-hen voice now.

"I was fine - but I didn't even know Darcy had been hit -"

"I'm _fine,_ jesus." She retorts, trying to brush it off.

"You got hit with a _bullet!"_ He exclaims, and she rolls her eyes.

"Like that's never happened to you, mister master-assassin." She says, and finally there's a pause as everyone stops for breath and Bucky has a second to gather his thoughts.

"Bucky Barnes," He says the first thing that comes into his head, and sticks out his hand. There's a second where she just looks at him and he holds his breath for her response, but then she starts laughing uncontrollably.

"Darcy Lewis." She says, taking his outstretched hand.

It's a while before he realizes he offered her his metal one.

* * *

><p>They have a weird sort of friendship, after that. He spends most of his time at Stark Towers, and since she's always there working with Jane he goes to visit her a lot. She's difficult to get used to. She likes crappy coffee (that's what she calls it anyway, although Bucky can't see its resemblance to the black liquid he drinks), and loud punk music, and sappy movies. She shifts between moods at a lightning speed, one second laughing and shouting and the next sulking and removed. She makes his life crazy, but for some reason he likes it.<p>

They're huddled up on the couch watching _The Princess Bride_ when she mentions something about getting ready for a date the next day and suddenly he's hyper-awake.

"A date, huh? Who's the lucky guy?" He asks, trying to sound nonchalant even though why should he be _trying_ to sound that way?

"Oh, this guy Scott that I met the other day. He was cute and funny, and he asked me out, so I said yes." There's something in her voice - almost a silent question.

"Sounds like fun." Is all he says in response, and she turns back to the tv. He can't help but think, just for a second, that she looked disappointed. But that wouldn't make sense. He was too fucked up and he'd gotten her _shot_ on their first meeting, and besides, they were just friends.

He stays at Stark Towers all night, pounding on the punching bag. Something is itching through him, filling him with an energy and a need to do something that he doesn't quite understand. So he punches things. That's just the way he works.

She's going to be happy with this guy, he tells himself. She's going to be happy, and safe, and that's what matters, and why the fuck does he even care who Darcy Lewis goes out with in the first place? He's just worried she'll get hurt, is what he tells himself. He's worried that the guy will be a jerk and he's _concerned,_ that's all. Friends can be concerned, right?

"Working through something?" The voice comes from behind him, and he whirls around to see Natasha watching him with an expression of amusement.

"Couldn't sleep." He responds, and goes back to the punching bag.

"You should tell her, you know." She says, and when he turns around to ask _tell her what?_ she's gone.

He spends the rest of the day walking around the city, doing his usual welcome-to-the-21st-century catching up. When he gets back to Stark Towers he finds Darcy in the common room, aggressively glaring at a paperback in her hands.

"You're back early," He comments. "How was the date?"

"Good. Fine." She mutters, but her gaze remains focused on the pages.

"What are you reading?" He asks, but she doesn't answer so he shifts to see the cover. He notes with surprise that she's reading _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ - he hadn't pegged her for a type to read children's books. "Is it good?" At this point he's just making small talk, and he's starting to get worried. Darcy is never this quiet, not unless she's seriously pissed off.

"My mom used to read it to me." She snaps, still not moving her intense gaze from the pages.

"Do you - do you want to talk about it?" Bucky asks awkwardly.

"Nope."

"Okay." He says, shifting off the couch and turning to go back to his punching bags. He knows when to take a hint - but he freezes when he hears her take in a deep, shaky breath. When he turns back she's trying to hide it, but her eyes are red and her hands are trembling too much to even hold the pages.

"Hey - hey, I'm here, okay? I'm here." He sits back down on the couch and wraps his arms around her, and she buries her head in his chest. He can feel the sobs racking her body, but he doesn't know what to do or say because he hasn't been in this position in nearly a hundred years and he's forgotten how comfort works.

It takes a while before the crying abates enough for her to speak.

"Today was the anniversary of my mom's death." She says, wiping away the tears from her eyes. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, especially since it's been ten years and I _know_ that I shouldn't let it hit me this hard, so I went out with Scott and I -" She breaks off, and Bucky wraps his arms around her a little tighter. "I just - I fuck everything up. I can't do this anymore."

He doesn't know what to say, so he just holds her, and strokes her hair, and tries to make her feel loved when she's so close to falling apart.

"Jesus." She says with a croaky laugh, nearly an hour later. "You must think I'm such a piece of work. And I got your shirt all wet -"

"Hey, you took a bullet for me," He teases gently. "A wet shirt is the least I can do."

She's silent for a minute.

"Thank you," She says finally, and this time he knows not to make a joke out of it.

She falls asleep against his chest, and when he feels her breathing even out he looks up at the ceiling and lets out a helpless _"fuck"._

He's so far gone, he doesn't know which way is up any more.

* * *

><p>He tries to go back to normal after that, but with the realization comes an inevitable awkwardness where he tries not to be too obvious, because this thing they have is so much better than him screwing it all up and ending up losing her altogether. She mentions Scott a few more times, each time his heart clenching up in his chest as he forces a smile onto his face. For someone who was a HYDRA super-assassin for nearly a hundred years, he could use some work on his poker face.<p>

He's out walking one night and someone shoots at him again - it's become almost a regular thing, and even though he's mostly unscathed one of the bullets scrapes his side and it's bleeding a fair amount, so he lets himself into Stark Tower and heads up to the medical wing.

"Oh, hey, Bucky -" Darcy looks up from her work as he walks past and her face goes white. "What happened? Oh my god, you need to sit down _right now_, I'll grab something to stop the bleeding -"

"I'm fine, really." He says with a bit of a laugh because she's overreacting a _lot,_ but she looks up at him and the laugh dies in his throat because he's looking at a lethal combination of deathly fear and red-hot fury.

"James Buchanan Barnes," She says, and her voice is shaking, "don't you _dare_ act like this is something you can just brush off. You could have died, and if you had I don't know what - I can't even -"

He grabs her hands because they're shaking and he sits down on of the cushions that's strewn across the room, more to get her to sit down than because he needed to. "I'm alright, okay?" He says softly, because she's whiter than he's ever seen her and she shouldn't get this worried, not over him. "It barely grazed me."

She swallows. "If something ever happened to you -"

"Nothing happened." He says firmly. "Nothing is _going_ to happen. I promise."

She makes him go to medical and sits beside him the whole time, wincing as he gets stitches, and he can't help but wonder why she bothers.

* * *

><p>And the tables are turned, two weeks later, when he's watching <em>Indiana Jones<em> on the tv and he gets a call from Jane, hysterical, saying she sent Darcy out to get coffee and it's been five hours and maybe Darcy gets distracted but never _that_ distracted and she isn't picking up her phone -

It doesn't even take a heartbeat before he's offering to go find her, his heart pounding a little bit harder in his chest. He knows now what she was feeling when she saw him spattered in blood, because he wants to find her and hold her and shout at her for being so _stupid_ but it's completely irrational and mainly he just wants her to be safe.

He takes one of Stark's sports cars and drives past all of her favorite places, but it's getting dark out and there isn't any sign of her and his heart is beating so fast he's surprised it hasn't burst out of his chest yet.

He's been to every place she's ever been, and on a whim he heads back to the bar where he'd first met her. She isn't in the bar, but as he's walking out he hears a quiet sniffling from the alley. He turns down it quickly, and it takes a second for his eyes to adjust but when they do all he can see is Darcy curled up on the ground, rocking back and forth.

"Where have you been?" He asks, and it comes out harsher than he intended. "Jane's been worried sick, _everyone_ has been -" And then he sees the blood on the corner of her mouth, and the bruises peeking out from under her sleeves.

"What happened?" His voice is deadly calm. He's going to kill whoever did this to her. He's going to _kill_ them.

She doesn't speak. Not then, not for a full twenty-four hours after he carries her back to the medical wing in the tower and lets everyone know that she's safe.

"It was some sort of anti-S.H.I.E.L.D. protest group," Stark says, twirling around a holographic screen so that they can all see. "They've been rioting, shooting people in the streets, spewing bullshit about how we're responsible for everything." His naturally devil-may-care tone of voice had a tense undercurrent to it. Him and Darcy were tooth and nails about most things, but everyone on the team had a soft spot for the intern. "They must've realized that she was involved with the Avengers, but didn't have any sort of superpowers to protect her."

"Pick off the weak one. Nice." Clint says with disgust.

"Has she said anything yet?" Pepper asks in the voice that always seems to make everyone feel like everything was under control, but it shakes a little at the end.

Tony glances at Bucky for just a split second. "No." He answers finally. "So I'm just piecing together bits and pieces right now. But it looks like they must've tried to pump her for information - there are marks on her back consistent with the forms of branding they've used for persuasive purposes in the past."

Bucky puts his head between his knees. He's going to be sick. He's going to be sick because these people took Darcy and did these things to her and _he didn't stop them_.

He can feel everyone looking at him, so he just gets up and heads down to the medical wing. Darcy's asleep when he enters, and aren't people supposed to look peaceful when they're asleep? Because she doesn't, just has the same scared expression that's been contoured onto her face since the alley. He settles down in the chair next to her, taking one of her hands in his metal one and brushing her hair back from her face with his other.

He whispers to her in russian while she's asleep. He starts telling all the things he couldn't before, and then he can't stop._ I love you,_ he tells her. _I wanted to tell you but I couldn't, and now I don't know what to do. I've loved you ever since you slapped me in that alley and I'll love you until time is ending and the very idea of love is ripped away from us, and I'll love you after that._

_You pissed me off so much at first,_ he admits, with an attempt at a laugh._ I couldn't figure you out. You were so unlike anyone I'd ever met - you were so alive. I didn't understand why you'd watch the same movie thirty times or why you sometimes went out to get coffee without even brushing your hair because you were so stupidly addicted to caffeine or why you looked at me like you did when I'm not worth any of it._

He talks through the night, and when the sun is coming up through the big glass windows and his eyes are drifting shut he feels her hand move in his, and he jerks awake.

"Hey." He says, and she reaches up to blearily rub her eyes. He goes to adjust her blanket and she flinches, and his stomach drops a million miles.

"Sorry." She says, and it's barely more than a whisper but it's _something._

He spends the rest of the day with her, and all of that night, and it just becomes a habit of being next to her 24/7. So when she's deemed medically and emotionally fit to go back to her apartment it feels a little like a punch to the gut that leaves him winded and gasping for air.

He's glad for her. Of course he is. It's just that when he was spending his nights in the rickety chair by her bed he knew that she was safe, and now? Now, he has no idea.

He doesn't tell her, but it's time he gets his own apartment anyways so he gets the one next to hers, and he has trouble sleeping some nights because he's too worried to relax his guard but it's all worth it as long as she's safe.

* * *

><p>"Douchehead. Hey." He looks up to see her staring down at him with a raised eyebrow. <em>Shit.<em> He must've involuntarily fallen asleep in her lab. Well, Jane's lab, technically. "Having trouble sleeping?"

"No." He responds automatically, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, right. And I'm Martha Stewart." She settles into the chair next to him and hands him a coffee - black, just like he likes it. "Seriously, though. What's up? You've been looking like you got up on the wrong side of bed for like, the past month. And don't bullshit me here. You're a terrible liar, I'll be able to tell."

He sighs. "It's not a big deal."

"See that?" She shoots him a knowing look. "That there's your bullshitting look."

"Fine. I've been having trouble sleeping."

"And this is because..."

He just looks at her. And then the timeline clicks, and her expression changes.

"You know I'm okay now." She says, and it's true. She bounced back remarkably fast, but he can tell that some part of it's an act. An experience like that doesn't just leave physical scars - he would know.

"I just need to know you're safe." He says, and a little bit of helplessness seeps into his voice.

"Is that why you rented the apartment next to mine?" She asks, and his head shoots up. She laughs. "You know, when the Winter Soldier moves into an apartment out of nowhere, people tend to notice."

"And you didn't ask?"

She shrugs. "I knew you'd tell me when you wanted to. But seriously, you need to start getting a full night's sleep. Like, starting now."

"Now?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Yep." She says, dragging him up and out the doors into the glaring sunlight.

"You do know that it's 2 in the afternoon, right?" He asks in an exhasperated voice as she hails a cab.

"I do." She replies firmly. It's a short ride to the apartment, and she storms determinedly up the stairs to the seventh floor. To his surprise it isn't his apartment door she heads to, but her own.

"What -" He starts, but she's already inside so he hesitantly follows her. She's throwing pillows and blankets onto the couch in an enormous pile, then steps back and folds her arms.

"This is ridiculous." Bucky tries in a last attempt, but she just glares at him. With a sigh, he folds himself into the pile of cushions. He tries closing his eyes, but the same fear that's kept him from relaxing for the past month is keeping him awake now. He hears a soft, exhasperated sigh and then feels the blankets shift as a warm body presses against his. His eyes shoot open, and he sees her curled up beside him.

"Now you have no excuses." She mumbles, pulling the blanket closer. "Now go. To. Sleep."

His eyes drift shut, and he falls into the deepest sleep he's had in years.

When he wakes up the space next to him is empty, and he jumps to his feet. He hadn't even felt her stand up, he'd been so _stupid_ - and then she walks in from the next room, and his heart goes back to something resembling a normal rate.

"Feeling better?" She says with an unsaid _I told you so_ resounding in her voice.

"Yeah," He admits. "A lot better." He looks at her more closely. She's wearing a dress, and lipstick. "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, um. Scott planned this thing a while ago, so I couldn't really cancel -"

"It's fine." And there it is, the knife to the gut.

"Right." Something in her face closes up, and he doesn't know why. "I guess I'll see you later, then." She moves towards the door, then stops. Turns back. "You know what I don't get?" She asks, finally. "You've spent every waking minute with me for the past few months. More than a few not-waking minutes too, recently. And to be honest, I didn't think you were this much of a total _dipshit."_

"What?" He's standing, now, and a little pissed. "How am _I_ a dipshit?"

"You know what? Never mind." She's turning to leave, now. "I have a perfectly nice dinner to go to where I'm going to break up with a perfectly nice guy because, obviously, I'm a fucking headcase."

"Wait, what?" He blinks. This conversation just spun in an entirely new direction and he has no idea how to react. "Why are you breaking up with Scott?"

"You know what?" She's so furious she's nearly spitting, and yet her eyes are shining like she's blinking back tears. "You're an asshole. You're a total, fucking, asshole."

The door slams, and he sits there in stunned silence before it hits him. Oh, _fuck._

He takes the stairs three at a time, dashing through the lobby and accidentally shoving a few people over in the process. He doesn't realize it's raining until he's outside dripping wet, and he looks around and then he spots her, just about to get into a cab.

"Wait!" He calls, sprinting across the square and grabbing her arm.

"What?" She asks, and she's glaring at him as he slams the cab door shut.

"I didn't - know how to tell you." He says, and he's breathing heavily not because he's out of breath but because he's never done this before, not in a hundred years, not when it mattered this much.

"Tell me what, Barnes?" She asks, and then he leans down and kisses her.

It's nothing like he imagined. It's nothing like he's ever had the capabilities of imagining. Her hair is soft under his fingers, and her arms are wrapped around him and she's kissing him back and the icy rain is pouring down on them but it doesn't matter.

"Was that the answer you were looking for?" He breathes when they pull apart, and she responds by kissing him again, swift and hard, before pulling back completely.

"Now if you'll excuse me," She says with a grin, "I have a boyfriend to go break up with."

He watches her go while the rain soaks him to the bone, and he wonders what on earth he did to deserve a happy ending.


End file.
